My mother’s mother’s mothers
Were like dogs
Trained to serve even on stepped nerves
Tamed to submit even when pain emit
Taught to shadow
Even in the brightest light
Ordained to please no matter their horrid tease
What can I do to  their souls appease?

Like dogs
Some got good owners
And lived well like prized possessions
Fed well
Only after serving like ones without souls
Respect out of their living dictionaries

Some lived moderately
Running errands
Taking their beatings and bootings
Watching their young chained and sold
Like fowls on important holidays
And still thanked their owners on three legs
One of which walked over them at night
To be their pots as they procreation rained

Others had it hard
Hunting in servitude
Feeding in slavery
And still receiving none of theirs
Except dirty crumbs
To lie in filthy slums
And still deprived sleep
At night
How wronged they might have felt

Still some lived in the wild
Ostracised by masters
Called dirty creatures
Tormented into fake witchcraft
Which were worn them by minds of egos
Because they chose to live unbounded
Funny how some cling
Onto the norm of torments
Just to feel big in their shrunken egoes
Good thing wings are now bought
With currencies of hardwork
No matter the the gender features
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

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